


PARALLELS || jeongho

by SQUISHSUNGS



Series: summertime sadness [2]
Category: K-pop, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Angst, Childhood Memories, Class Differences, Crying, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Lana Del Rey Songs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Star-crossed, TW: Slurs, and kissing, let people love who they love tbh, some bible references uhm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:49:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SQUISHSUNGS/pseuds/SQUISHSUNGS
Summary: A hot summer day in mid-July, the day Minho's engagement got announced, was the day reality had finally caught up to them
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Series: summertime sadness [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189013
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	PARALLELS || jeongho

**Author's Note:**

> this is a part two of lana del rey brings out the sad bitch in me. the two one shots don't have anything in common, other than that they're inspired by lana del rey songs and are set in the summer. spot the references in this one too hehe ;) 
> 
> there will be internalized homophobia, slight homophobic slur (only once) and a lot of stress on class differences as it's set in the 50s. again, if you're sensitive to it, then please leave and take care of yourself. i won't take it personally 
> 
> enjoy~

Minho smiled down at his glass, the orange whiskey forming triangular hues on his skin as the sun lit it up. He nodded mindlessly at his in-laws-to-be’s words. Truthfully, he hadn't picked up a single thing. Another empty laugh escaped him as he brought his hand up to fill himself up again with alcohol. Through the crystallized pattern a familiar face filled his vision as if he were looking through a kaleidoscope. His dull monochrome world suddenly had been brought to life again.

With his legs spread apart and one hand in his pocket he politely excused himself from the one-sided conversation. As he was asked for reasoning from the father of his fiancée he gave an almost incoherent response with his gaze fixated on the scenery over his shoulder. He had no patience left for the certainly disappointed response. With a slam of a whiskey glass on the wooden stand he left with a curt nod of the head. 

He could feel the prying, judgment and definite disapproval stabbing him in the back, but to him it was all insignificant if it meant he could be within arms' reach of the one who filled his earliest memories and his sweetest dreams.

"The way you reacted I didn't think I'd see you here," he smirked down at a boy seated under a lace-tipped parasol — too tacky if Minho would've had a say in it, but alas, the planning was all in Yoora's hands.

He looked up through his dark shades. His jet black hair was greased back with generous comb streaks, yet a few stubborn tufts still fell over his forehead. His navy jeans were folded at the bottom to reveal a pair of walked-down black sneakers. Yang Jeongin was his name: a lower class cunt and a labeled trouble maker only by background. However, above that he was Minho's everything. 

"I only came for the alcohol," the boy muttered, swerving the liquid into a small whirlpool. "Rich bitch alcohol always tastes better."

As if to prove his point he gulped down a shot of whiskey in one go. All Minho could take in were his heavily accessorized fingers. Silver rings reflected brightly, causing dark spots to momentarily appear in his vision.

"Do you mind if I take a seat?" he asked with a grin, though deep down he feared that if he didn't he might end up collapsing with the way his world was spinning. It was the eye of the storm where it was only the two of them, while the rest of the world was trapped in blurs of chaos.

"It's _your_ chair," the younger shrugged, though still he scooted over slightly. He tipped a hand at a waiter, signaling him to come over with his tray of beverages. He gave him a curt nod as he took two off. Jeongin held out his left hand at Minho with a cocked up eyebrow. "What say do I have in that matter?"

"Isn't it too hot for a leather jacket?" Minho inquired. Questions like that — the ones that reminded them painfully of their differences in status — is what had caused them to drift apart over the years.

"Fuck you, it's fashion."

Jeongin roughly tugged at his collar, setting it up almost as if he were lifting up a wall to separate them again. They sat in silence. Their surroundings were chattering excitedly. It all sounded like white noise of spluttering car radios. A plane flew over, breaking the clouds up with puffy chemtrails.

The younger of the duo sighed deeply and took a swig. His face instantly crumpled into a frown, his already sharp eyes looking even more intimidating.

"You don't love her," he stated, not looking into the elder's direction.

"My parents do," Minho replied, following his gaze over the garden. He watched the girl dance in her white, collared dress. The top two buttons were undone and a pearl necklace rested neatly on her collar bones. Her legs danced around happily from underneath a knee-length skirt. Very modest, very prim, very proper and what a sight to see.

And looking at Yoora, Minho admitted that she was indeed a beauty, but apart from that there was nothing more than a numb rustling. He admired her in a way young girls admired models on magazine covers. She was sweet, soft-spoken and gentle as an angel on earth. She was careful with her words, yet eloquently brought them with a power that made one believe them. She never slumped and always showed the world her best version. She was perfectly molded into what society expected young ladies to be and that's why _she_ was accepted, whereas _he_ was constantly drilled into the ground with harsh scolding and hawk-like stares.

There were moments where he — embarrassingly enough — wished that he could be her.

"They love her bank account," Jeongin mused, the bitter taste in his mouth leaving their trails on his words now.

"And her parents love mine," he murmured into his glass. His shoulders slouched, so he rested his lower arms on his legs to appear manlier rather than dejected. "Business is business after all. Money is the anthem of success."

"They're looking at us," the younger commented, feeling the discomfort rise. They — the guests as well as the family — were acting as if they were security cameras positioned to watch him step out of line. They were waiting for a solid excuse to kick him out of their spotless illusion that he was tainting with greasy smears and the stench of poverty.

"They should accept me talking to a _childhood companion_."

It sounded oddly strained, the way the last part of the sentence left his mouth, like there was a different naming he would've loved to call him by. Jeongin swallowed hardly, pupils shifting left and right. He fidgeted in his seat, which made Minho wonder what had changed in the mood for it to turn that tense. Suddenly the younger shot up from his spot.

"Congratulations on your engagement," he spoke with a tight grimace. He held out his hand, but his body had already been turned into the preparation of a flee.

With some delay Minho blinked, looking up at him with puzzlement. The younger huffed, straightening his collar back up again. He twisted on his heels, passed the pool, over the porch and eventually out of sight, while all Minho could do was watch him leave and yell a pathetic "Jeongin, wait!" after him. He stretched out his arm, as if he was trying to take a hold of the boy's faded presence. The spot beside him had cooled down into a lulling summer evening. A million curses at his incompetence flooded his mind, frustrations at his cowardly nature and the desperate questions of why he couldn't hold onto him just a while longer.

There was a tap on his shoulder. Startled by the shake to reality, he twisted with his eyes like saucers. Immediately the questions weren't open anymore. _This_ was why he couldn't. He felt as if the swirly lace bows in Yoora's hair had been wrapped around his throat, slowly suffocating him more and more as the days towards his inevitable handover ceremony neared. He would wake up in cold sweat every time the night terrors of the wedding hit him; the worst way to remind him that his parents had indeed sold him off as property. 

"Father and mother suggested we do a toast to the uniting of our families," she whispered, small and far away, taking him by the hand in dove-like manner. How he hated that he couldn't hate her.

"Of course," Minho muttered, rolling his neck a few times as an attempt to release at least a fragment of his stress.

Amidst the members of his family's country club he felt his chest tighten, agreeing to their comments on what a lovely couple they formed and how fortunate their families were to be blessed with such beauties. All he could do was laugh along and toast to their misplaced jokes.

As quickly as it appeared, the vivid palette faded into the same dull grays.

<><><>

Jeongin exhaled heavily, carefully letting his body fall onto a small wall by the local playground. It was all wrong. He shouldn't have gone.

Impatiently he rolled up his sleeve to check the time. He wondered if he might've called it off with all the heiza going on. Perhaps he had been too positive about the situation. He should've cut off all ties; instead here he was in a wallowing pit of self-pity, wondering why society had these idiotic unspoken rules.

He cursed at those who invented segregation, those who decided to divide humans in categories. They lived in a fish tank world, where those of the same kinds had been placed into one tank. There wasn't a possibility to move over. All they could do was stare at each other from behind double-sided glass. They had the opportunity to swim past and admire, but never were they meant to meet.

A bright red flash zoomed past his vision, coming to a clean stop right in front of his feet. The boy only sighed deeper than previously.

"Jeongin."

Curse Lee Minho for being a damn stubborn fish who refused to settle with his place in the world. As a child he had taken the leap with which he rudely had broken into Jeongin's world uninvited and then claimed a great portion of his heart — though that part he had been too scary to ever admit out loud.

The younger ran a hand through his black hair, trying his best to shake off the jitters in his stomach. "Why'd you leave your party? I thought they said until daylight."

"Because there is nothing to celebrate," Minho shrugged, seated in the passenger's seat looking stupidly handsome in his preppy sport's polo. He smiled, putting on a pair of sunglasses he kept in his car. "It was nothing but a trade. A child for a stack of dollar bills. Besides, I'd be here at eight pm sharp."

"You'll get into trouble." He crossed his arms with a piercing gaze over his darkened shades. "Also, your seven minutes late."

"When do I not?" The boy ignored the complaint – Jeongin was happy enough he’d come at all – and cocked his head at the empty passenger's seat. "What do you say? Wanna take a ride away from trouble?"

With staged reluctance Jeongin pushed himself off his spot. How Minho could sway him just like that, he liked to blame it on the fact that Minho had always been the extrovert in their relationship, so Jeongin would comply to his ideas — after a lot of whining, of course. Patiently waiting for Jeongin to buckle up, Minho then stepped on the gas and they were speeded down the road in the well-known red sports car.

Again there were red signals flashing in his mind, an inner war of dignity and selfishness. Jeongin wanted Minho, as more than a friend, but he was engaged. He knew it was all wrong. He was an alien to the world. A man who got sent to cloud nine by other men, who lost his head when other men turned him on. Minho was the man that made him sweat, the one he thought of in bed, the one he could love harder and better than any girl ever could. Because of that, running off like that was even more inappropriate.

Jeongin had been living a bubbled, secret dream in which he and Minho could be together and form the life he had wished they could live. A sweet, benign living without gender roles, where the only obligatory one was that they cared for another. The voice of his common sense was loud, but his hopeless romantic nature lulled it to a silent slumber with the thought that before the forced end of his hidden desire, he could enjoy it for only a few moments more.

He rested his head on the car door, his arms neatly folded underneath as protective cushioning. The buildings blurred into yellow sun-kissed fields, leaving the town behind for more open sceneries. It was this deception of his cinnamon-like reality that he bore closest to his heart. The sweet scent of frivolous hope subdued the bitterness of coming back down to Earth.

The car came to a stop. Both clambered out lazily, as if the dog days had slowed down their sense of time, leaving a pool of infinity where they could rest. The younger let out a breath, taking in the hot summer night. It was mid-July, the hottest time of the season. He could see them as kids, running over the arid fields with childish screams of joy breaking through the sluggish air as a burst of life in a barren landscape. He smiled frailly to himself.

"Do you think God's playing us out like pawns?" Jeongin questioned lowly, leaning his head against the rough bark of the apple tree. The water of the lake shimmered white with rays. "Do you think he purposely put us up for disaster?"

"I don't believe it's God's doing," Minho answered, laying his head down on the younger's lap. He stared up with his eyes sparkling with nostalgia. "Perhaps He brought us together, however it's the world we live in that makes it harder than it could be."

Jeongin, beaming softly, played with the elder's brunet tufts mindlessly. The calm they had set around them as a protective blanket had melancholic detailing around its edges. Both boys were well-aware that there would come an end to their careless run-offs sooner rather than later. Minho had his arm covering his eyes, shielding the blinding escapes of sunlight that sneakily slipped through the leaves.

With a deliberate motion, he felt it being pried off its spot. At first he felt a burning white sting his eyes, however shortly after it was replaced by a fox-like gaze. As leisurely as the weather moved time, so also did Minho get up. There was no exchange of words, only stern and rosy stares. Careful yet carelessly the elder cupped the boy's sharp jaw with his free hand.

Jeongin looked down at the elder's lips, the familiar pattern of events making his ears buzz with the strong thumping in his chest. He parted his lips slightly and immediately felt a rush of warmth spread from his toes up to his head, from the tips of his fingers to his core. Every inch of him was set ablaze. His taste of faint rich bitch whiskey – as Jeongin liked to call it – sent the buzzing sensation to a higher frequency.

The bark of the fruit-filled apple tree pressed into his back as his fingers formed knots in those soft, brunet strands.

"We shouldn't be doing this anymore," the younger airily uttered through the kiss, only to be broken off by Minho claiming his lips again. "You're engaged."

"To a stranger," the brunet whispered. He distanced themselves." Jeongin, you even said it yourself. I don't love her. It's you. All this, everything I do, it's for you. How many more times do I have to tell you?"

"It's still not right, Min," the younger stated. "We're doing more harm than good."

"I'm tired of playing these games of avoidance." Minho bit the inside of his cheek. The blue dark had set in above them, as if the town had been painted with their pain. "I want to be with you. Why are we the ones who have to hide."

"Do you... do you really love me?" Jeongin stammered. He pressed his lips on each other tightly, forcing the pressure there instead of his tear ducts. "Min... please... we're basically each other's dirty secret. God, this is wrong. This is so wrong. We're going to be burned alive and then in the pits of Hell."

"I don't believe in God, but I do believe in Heaven," the elder shakily said. "I believe Heaven is here, with you. If it's so wrong, then, from God's perspective, would he give you those feelings? Would he bless us with those feelings?"

The sky had been illustrated with orange-tinted chemtrails, mixing in with a deep violet higher in the horizon. Track of space and time had been completely lost and Jeongin wished that the time travelling theory might be correct and that there was a possibility that they could go back. Perhaps he would force himself to untangle their chains and unsay their confessions of their promised forever.

Truth be told, he was too weak to do that. Perhaps if he'd been immortal he would choose to forget the happiness and the shared moments of deep sentiment that they had buried from the eyes of anyone but them. To them, as Minho had said, Heaven was a place on Earth together, an Earth that was built for two, because only if they were alone were they free to live up to their fulfillment. Only if they were alone, could they give themselves completely. Because his life was ending could he hold on to the shared moments; one day his lights would go out and could he look back at their shared secrecies with a gratification and thank them. If he'd have to live with them for eternity they'd become a torment.

Because his life was ending could he let go.

"What a mess we are," Jeongin sighed and as he said that he rested his head on the other's shoulder. Noticing the way he had started shivering slightly he realized how late it had become once again.

Nonchalantly he took his arms out of his thick jacket and wrapped it around the two of them, admiring the way the stars lit up the dark. They shone brighter this night too, as every night he spent with Minho. They gleamed for him, it seemed. Jeongin always perceived the world in a pink glaze whenever they were together, as if Amore had struck them with an arrow of fatal affection, knowing that they were star-crossed from the beginning.

The black haired slowly clambered up, wrapping his jacket around the elder tighter. The other quizzically followed his steps with his gaze, eventually landing in the lake. The younger kicked off his shoes, his socks and fully clothed stepped in until the water soaked him mid-thigh. He flashed the other his infamous smile, to which he returned a look of concern. With a short salute he let himself fall backwards with a loud splash.

Minho let out a suffocated yelp when he dispersed under the waves completely. He jumped up, running over to the edge of the scaffold. "Innie?! Jesus, fuck!"

However, with a loud giggle, he surfaced again. Now usually that laugh and smile could melt Minho's usually cold facade. Now it only deepened his frown. "Do you even know how to swim? You're an idiot."

"Remember when we were younger?" Jeongin reminded him, swimming over to where he was crouched down. "You'd secretly let me use your family's pool, while you kept guard. It was on the days my mother had to bring me along for her shifts at your place."

"How could I forget?" Minho huffed, crossing his arms with a scowl. Anyone could tell he was trying his utmost to keep it from fading into amusement. "You always acted so cocky, bragging about how well you could swim and then you almost fucking drowned. Like an idiot."

"But I didn't," the younger cheekily sang. "Even then you couldn't stand to live without me."

The smiles faded slowly. How they wished that it could stay that peaceful. One in the wind, one in the water, part of no one's world, of no family. Them and only them, their coexistence speaking more lines than society would ever allow them to exchange.

Jeongin placed his hands on the wood, forming great, dark splotches. His white tank clung to his body like a second skin, revealing the lining of his body in the pale moonlight. Minho trailed his moves with hawkish precision.

With a toothless grin, his dimples accentuated by the sharp lighting from above, the younger looked into the boy's deep chocolate eyes. He brushed his hair back, though those exact same stubborn strands fell onto his forehead again. It was as if they had gotten their own mind and decided that that was their spot and refused to be placed anywhere else. Just as Minho had decided that his spot was beside Jeongin and had nailed himself stuck to it.

Jeongin bit his lip under the boy's gaze. He remembered all his friends from his side of town telling him to stay away from the high society, telling him that Minho would only bring him trouble and hardships. Some even went as far as saying that he was a bad person to be around: a stuck up rich kid who would sooner or later drag Jeongin into his grave for the crime of having a lower income family. Yet Jeongin looked into those eyes, fractioned like the lens of a kaleidoscope, how much worse he could get. Their breach had definitely hurt him, but Jeongin could tell from the looks of it that Minho too had been strained by the scars they had left on him.

He suspected they were cursed. Nothing worse could happen to two boys who were already hurt by the slander of society to grow up into proper gentlemen who would provide for a family and raise their children to a class higher than theirs.

Jeongin had never been interested in girls. If anything, he'd rather keep his distance from them. In fact, he'd rather keep his distance from anyone. He hated humans with a genuine, passionate hatred. Humans were selfish and only cared about money and how luxuriously extravagant their lives could be compared to those dirt-picking factory workers. That's what Minho's community was like. It was off-limits for him, firstly for being a rag at the bottom of the ladder and secondly for being a man who was a sin in the circle.

Opposed to how Jeongin had always lived his life, he thoughtlessly pulled Minho to him, giving a fluttery kiss. As it went on it turned rougher, a strong saltiness mixing in and overpowering all the other flavors. This was different, this was more desperate, tougher and despite being as close as they were, it was as if they were parting ways.

Jeongin wanted to round off what they had neatly and passionately. If he left like this and right now, he could die happily, knowing that he'd left behind a strong bond that would be a struggle for any new lover to break. A silent message that he was the best Minho could ever wish for, that his summers would be forever tinted with a faraway sadness he'd forever have to keep locked within himself.

He cleared his throat, rubbing his face hardly. "Minho, I think you should go."

"What do you mean?" The boy articulated it clearly and loudly. It was that demanding type of tone that he usually used around the house when they were kids.

Jeongin clicked his tongue, pinching the bridge of his nose as one of his other tear-stopping maneuvers. "What I mean is that you should live a good life! You have a fiancée! You're getting married! You can't run off with me to live a faggingly unfortunate dream life!"

"But that's what I want."

He was calm; deadly calm and motionless. Dangerous.

"Minho be fucking realistic!" The younger climbed to his feet. "Your family is going to disown you and once that happens you'll have nothing, _we'll_ have nothing. We'll be beaten to death for being together."

"I don't love Yoora and she doesn't love me," the brunet coolly uttered. He hadn't shifted in any way, still firm on his spot as a statue.

"Then learn to love each other."

As Jeongin walked away, a shrill scream nailed him to the ground. Minho had never raised his voice that way, always collected and disciplined to never show any weak sides. Finally he had snapped. 

"Yang Jeongin, don't be such a jerk!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, wrapping the warm leather around his body tighter. "Why can't you get it! Even if we can't see each other outside, I'd be willing to sneak into your window or climb into your backseat if it means I can hold you for just seconds."

The younger slumped into a turn. His eyes were like a glaze of ice, hiding the sorrow beneath it.

"That's not a life, Minho," he responded. His knees quivered. "Honestly, it's enough for me to have you dream a little dream of me."

"All my life, happiness has been this butterfly that fluttered around my head within my reach, yet whenever I try to catch it, it escapes from my hands and taunts me from close by," he said, his voice wavering. His hands shook, knuckles turning white with the force used to grip the sturdy leather protecting from the cold night's air. "That butterfly only appears when you're around. I'm going to catch it this time and hold on to it. Please, Jeongin, hold on to me too."

"You're being selfish."

The boy's face dropped back into that stoic expression. How Jeongin wished he could unsay those spoken words or how he could rewire the world's ways into one they could live in.

"Yoora deserves so much more than a facade of extravagance, too," he muttered eventually. "I want to keep her from all that phony business as much as I'm trying to run from it now."

"Min... what are we going to do?"

In his blue jeans and white shirt he put on a mask of toughness, where no harsh words could hurt him. He looked untouchable, yet here he was with watery eyes and smaller than Minho had ever seen him. Drenched with dirty water and shivering in the cold air.

Jeongin felt himself being pulled into the older boy's chest, his arms snugglier and fitting him better than his favorite sweater.

"We'll... we'll figure it out eventually," he mumbled, though he sounded as doubtful as they both felt inside.

Jeongin rested his head on the elder's shoulder. He couldn't deny it any longer. It was as if every road he took ultimately lead him to one destination. Minho was the centre of his routes. Minho unlocked a deep suppressed edge of calmness that he never knew he had, despite that it was also Minho who brought the chaos and disrupt over him as crashing waves. The uncertainty in their situation more than surely out-weighed the positives. Running away for love and for freedom; Jeongin had always ridiculed those who claimed to be so sickly smitten to the point of losing rationality.

However — as he now ridiculed himself —, he was now stuck in that same scenario. Despite his sober brain screaming at him that love wouldn't provide an income and would send them into more misfortune than fortune, the tiny fraction of his dopamine infested area whispered that it might be alright if only they put their heart and fate into it.

"And when we're not young anymore? Will you still find it in yourself to love me?" Jeongin inquired in a hushed tone. "Will that love you foster be enough when we're no longer young and when it gets hard?"

"Honestly, fuck it," Minho said, pulling his shoulders back. "I love you, Yang Jeongin. Do I have to spell it out for you to understand?"

Love had been portrayed as the cure to any issue. It cured disease, it cured loneliness, but what they never mentioned was that love was mean and that it hurt. From the way their parents had tried to keep them separated to now, where they could only meet up in abandoned lands in the depths of the night, they were never meant to be. Yet the pull, the strong magnetic connection of Minho being the warm and carefree south and Jeongin being the cold and distant north they were connected.

Life ran passed a string of possibilities. Early on theirs had given them the possibility to meet, running passed each other as platonic parallels, however in their teens it had changed. The possibility of stringing into one flashed by as an alert, an opportunity that would only strike once. Drunk on a high panic they had taken the chance. Living in secrecy gave a rush; their secret romance was forbidden by the daylight. It was proven the moment Minho broke down sobbing at Jeongin's feet with a blood-stained engagement ring burning around his finger. From there on it had all gone downhill.

"Who else is going to be able to put up with you?" The younger laughed, rubbing his hands up and down the elder's toned back. He wiped his tear-stained cheek on his shoulder. "I must be crazy. You liked your loves crazy, didn't' you?"

"Only crazy people can handle me," Minho shrugged, feeling himself untense under the boy's gentle touch. He held him as if he were made of porcelain, damaged at any wrong move. To be honest, I'm not even sad or unhappy, I'm just scared of how that will worsen with time."

"Should we go to your car? I'll drive," Jeongin stated, already at the door for the driver's seat. "Don't object to it, you're in no state to drive."

"Nor are you!" the elder objected. "We're both emotionally unstable."

"Just let me drive, alright. Let me live my dream of driving a red sports car," the other replied shortly, taking a seat and cockily smirking. 

Minho was weak for those dimples, he wouldn't even try denying it. He climbed into the passenger's seat with a loud groan, make the boy bust out a hearty giggle.

"Don't wreck my car, Yang," he warned playfully.

The younger stuck out his tongue childishly. "What if I do? Do you think I can't drive? Honestly, Lee, you have such little fate in me."

 _You're gonna drive me home, of course I'm skeptical,_ he thought, remembering to not let his disappointment get the best of him.

He just wanted to keep him safe, he knew that, yet it was as if a knife had been pressed into his chest and twisted around viciously till he was bleeding out through his shirt, leaving a long trail of internal pain behind. His pain would then slowly creep up on others, them forcing him to get over it and cheer up for the sake of others. He refused. If they were the ones who'd trapped him in misery, then they'd sure as hell have to feel the aftermath of their actions.

It sounded like a privileged problem. A whiney little bastard whining about getting more money. That's all the people cared about: Collecting stacks upon stacks, just to be able to afford a fancier car than the next-door-neighbors. 

"Are you really going to give up on us like this?" the elder asked under his breath. 

"I'm sorry," the younger sighed, pulling up on the grand driveway. 

"So yes." The elder blew his bangs out of his face. "I don't blame you, but I wish you wouldn't. I'll see you at the side of the aisle then?"

Jeongin climbed out the car seat over to his side. He took his hand, intertwining their fingers. "We can't live in these fever dream forever, Min. We have to return to the real world again."

Minho sniffed a little louder than he intended to, quickly turning his head away before the younger could witness the tears spilling over his bottom lids. 

"I... I love you," Jeongin mumbled, lifting the boy's chin. It shattered him to see his eyes so broken, cracked porcelain. "In another life, in a better world, I can be not just the man of your dreams, but of your reality too." 

And he let go. Minho's hand trailed after him as the fragments of his dreams slipped through his fingers and dispersed into all they could be: a fantasy. Clutching the leather on his shoulder, intoxicated by the younger's strong scent, every scream he wanted to aim at him was silenced by the lump in his throat. How cruel fate was, to place them on parallel roads.


End file.
